Helpless
by Kitty Nightmare
Summary: Set in an alternate season three, where Spike's return to Sunnydale has a very different outcome...
1. Default Chapter

Helpless  
  
Buffy wasn't aware of consciousness creeping back into her mind, nor was she aware of the dank, oppressive darkness that surrounded her. But before she even opened her eyes she was horribly alert to the fact that she couldn't move.  
  
Outlines gradually swam into focus before her. A window frame, shrouded by heavy black drapes, an ornately carved dresser, the gothic arches of an antique mirror. the smashed faces of innocent porcelain dolls.  
  
Dimly the realisation dawned on her. This place - she knew it. Although she'd never set foot in it before, she could sense its location, its position from the sun. its evil.  
  
And then, through her confusion, grogginess and sense of paralysing foreboding, she was aware there was a presence behind her.  
  
Oh God, she knew who it was, and she shouldn't be scared, because she was the Slayer, but she was also the Slayer tied to a bed and - she tried to flex her neck, turn her head, but it was too much. She gasped sharply in shock as she felt her hair slide around a sticky wet patch on her scalp. There was nothing she could do, she just had to wait, and listen-  
  
"Morning, slayer," growled a chilling voice right by her ear. Her breath caught in her throat as it continued: "I'll get the lights."  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Light suffused the room with a rich golden glow, banishing shadows into impenetrable corners. Buffy swivelled her eyes across her surroundings, scanning for any possibility of escape, when she knew that even the possibility of walking was far-fetched right now. Her eyes settled on the figure leaning against the door frame, languidly dragging upon a cigarette.  
  
"Spike," She said, her voice betraying none of the fear or pain she felt coursing through her body. "You sure do look a lot less scary in the light."  
  
He said nothing for the moment, just let his eyes stray over her. She felt suddenly exposed as she sensed his contemptuous gaze sweep her body, resting for a second upon the curve of her hips, before he looked her evenly in the eyes.  
  
Disoriented as she was, Buffy still managed to glare at him. "What is this?" She spat. "Why have you brought me here?"  
  
Spike chuckled, obviously enjoying taunting her with his silence. "You don't remember?" He asked, before taking another large drag. He blew a thick plume of smoke into the room, and stepped forward, resting a hand upon the dresser.  
  
Buffy frowned. "Remember.?" She could remember parts of it. She'd been with the others, Willow, Xander. they'd been waiting for something. she couldn't remember what. and then - something bad.  
  
"I. I don't. remember." She managed. Against her better judgement she looked at Spike imploringly. "You've gotta tell me."  
  
"Well," He said cheerily. "Your friends are dead. Some of them in quite a few more pieces than when you last saw them." He gave her a sinister smile, revelling in the evil, looking almost proud. "They begged for mercy." he reminisced fondly. "You should have been there."  
  
And just like that, Buffy felt her world collapse around her, falling away until she was completely alone, suspended in a void. She couldn't think. Willow and Xander. dead. It couldn't be. It. it.  
  
"No." She choked. "No. no, they can't. they."  
  
Spike's eyes narrowed in what may have been concern, but could just as easily have been suspicion. He remained where he was, silent, while Buffy grappled with the truth. Eventually it became too much.  
  
"Oh come on, slayer," He said, rolling his eyes. "What do you have to worry about? You're practically immortal. One dies, another's called. Get over it."  
  
Buffy focused on him for a brief second, her eyes narrowing in an effort to distinguish what was real from the blurred shapes and shadows that were dancing in her mind. The world was still falling in.  
  
"No. it's different." She managed. She had to pull herself together. There was no ancient prophecy about a slayer and her friends. "They don't deserve this."  
  
They hadn't deserved to die. To know her, to help her. it all ended in death.  
  
Always.  
  
Spike sighed. He could see he was getting nowhere fast.  
  
"Look," He said, in the resigning tones of a schoolmaster. "I was gonna kill you straight off, but I can see you need a little time to appreciate it fully. No good killing someone who wants to die." He stubbed out his cigarette in one of the doll's glassy eyes and flicked the butt to the floor. "You want anything? Drink o' water?" He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, before offering the packet to her. "Smoke?" He asked.  
  
Buffy stared at him. Stared through him. Nothing was real.  
  
Spike shrugged. "I bloody give up," He said before stalking out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.  
  
The world was still falling in.  
  
Buffy stared at the ceiling. Watching the cracks in the plaster. Feeling the cracking within herself. She could feel her mind dying. Her soul was giving up. Letting go. Her friends were dead and gone. She was tied to a bed, with little hope of surviving. There was no fight left in her. How could it have happened like this? How could she have woken up to find that she was the only one left? She couldn't do this alone.  
  
And yet all the others had. Girls, just the same as herself. Yet they'd coped. They'd been stronger. She would not cry.  
  
And as she slipped into blissful sleep she felt the tears slide down her cheeks.  
  
Hoping she'd never wake up.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
  
  
Spike rested his chin on his hands, thoughtfully. The pale glow of sunset pierced the gloom in thin shafts. Night was approaching and he was hungry. But he couldn't go and hunt. Something was stopping him. That wretched slayer, that was it. Tied to his bloody bed, revelling in her own pathetic self-pity. God, he hated her.  
  
And yet, he couldn't leave. There'd been something about her sobbing, her numb silence that had reached him. Made him feel. what? Sympathy? Guilt? There was nothing wrong with killing a harmless bunch of teenagers, was there?  
  
Was there?  
  
He shook his head suddenly, to clear it. What the hell was he thinking? Guilt? Hah. That was a joke. He was a vampire. That was what he did. And if some preppy slayer got her feelings hurt, so much the better.  
  
That was more like it.  
  
He wasn't staying for her. He was staying because he felt like it.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Half an hour later and he was sitting in the bedroom. Watching her sleep. Watching her eyelids fluttering in torturous dreams. Swathed in shadows, they made a pretty picture. He, slouched in the corner, just smoking and watching. Her, trapped inside her mind, living and re-living everything that she'd done that had led up to this. He, trying to banish the thoughts of sympathy from his head, and she, trying to banish all thoughts. Trying to sink into unconsciousness and never, ever wake up.  
  
She woke up.  
  
Sat bolt upright and gasped, inhaling the stale air in short painful breaths.  
  
It was OK. They weren't there. They weren't there and they weren't shouting and screaming at her - 'How could you do this? How could you let us die?' It was a dream.  
  
Spike was beside her in an instant. He went to lay a hand on her arm, but something stopped him. Suddenly it was awkward.  
  
"Er. There there," He said insincerely.  
  
"Get away from me," Buffy hissed, trying feebly to dis-entangle herself from the bed.  
  
"Hey," Spike said, indignant. "You're delusional. It's me, Spike. oh." He realised that was a good enough reason for him to get away from her and stood up. "Suit yourself."  
  
"You know, for a kidnapping blood-sucking fiend, you're pretty pathetic," Buffy commented from where she sat.  
  
"Yeah, well I'm not the one tied to a bed, am I," He countered.  
  
She wouldn't look at him. Her barbed comments hadn't had their usual fiery delivery. She was lost.  
  
Spike was totally oblivious. "Well, I suppose you've gotta laugh, haven't you?" He continued. "I mean, you're all tied up, all your friends are dead, and here we are nattering away like old enemies. Some things never change, eh?"  
  
Buffy turned away.  
  
"I'm just glad to see you've gotten over it." He stole a glance at her, trying to win her around. "They probably didn't even like you very much anyway," He tried. "Better off dead if you ask me--"  
  
"No one's asking you!" Buffy exploded. "I don't want your opinion! Nothing's going to change this!" He mouth hardened into a line. "Nothing."  
  
"Well not with an attitude like that," Spike muttered to himself. "Bloody women. Don't know when to get over it."  
  
He started pacing the room, aimlessly, picking up ornaments and fiddling with them before replacing them and picking up another.  
  
"Would you stop that?!" Buffy asked through clenched teeth.  
  
"Sorry, was I interrupting the self-pity?" Spike asked sarcastically.  
  
"By God, when I get free I'm gonna kill you in so many ways."  
  
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Now that's a breath of fresh air. Good to know you haven't forgotten your song through all that grieving."  
  
Buffy looked down, her eyes resting on the dull wooden floorboards. A while passed in silence as she thought. As she tried to form the words.  
  
"Spike." She said suddenly, shattering the quiet.  
  
He looked up in surprise, then tried to change in into a expression of nonchalance.  
  
"Spike, listen. I. I need you to tell me. how it happened." She took a deep breath. "How they died."  
  
Spike opened his mouth to retort-  
  
"Without the insults please," Buffy warned. "Not that I could feel any worse," She added quietly.  
  
Spike took a deep breath. He hadn't had much experience in tact. "Right, well. Er. I did it quite quickly, if that helps. Snapped their necks first, before I ripped their throats out."  
  
He saw Buffy wince and tried a different tactic. "What do you want to know?"  
  
She composed herself. "It's so strange. I, I don't remember anything. Not a single thing. How did it all start?"  
  
"You remember when I came back, right?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Come to vow revenge on your poof of a boyfriend."  
  
"Angel. What-I mean, did anything. happen to him?"  
  
"Poncey bugger skipped town. Good thing too, if he knew what was comin' for him."  
  
"A-Angel's gone.?" Buffy asked. She'd forgotten him. She'd forgotten he was the one thing she had left. And now he was gone.  
  
"Well, yeah," Spike said. "I told him where to go, and he went. I said-"  
  
He trailed off as he saw the hurt in her eyes. "Ah hell, I didn't kill him! Give me some credit."  
  
"What do you want, flowers and a thank-you card?" Buffy retorted. She sighed. "Look. Tell me straight. I need to know. And keep it brief."  
  
Spike shrugged. He flipped open a small metal case and withdrew a slender cigarette. He sparked it and inhaled deeply before holding out the case. "You sure you don't-?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Right." He settled himself down on a humble wooden chair and locked eyes with her. "If you really want to know."  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Before they knew it the moon was high in the sky. It had taken hours to tell the tale, frequently anecdoted with references to Spike's other kills, and how compared to them, it'd been relatively painless.  
  
And now it was over.  
  
They sat, breathless, facing each other in the darkness. Spike could see almost perfectly. Buffy hadn't even noticed that she couldn't.  
  
He had loosened her bindings at first, and then untied her completely. He knew she'd stay until she'd heard him out. And she didn't have anywhere left to go anyway.  
  
He told of how he'd captured Willow and Xander and demanded a spell to make Dru love him again. Of how he'd fought with Angel until the older vampire had given up and fled. Of how he had waited in the Buffy's kitchen for her, and had been surprised by Joyce. And had snapped her brittle bones and left her for dead. Which she soon was. He'd stirred up old enemy's wraths, and he told of how they'd stormed after him, and he'd led them into the library where they'd killed Giles, and Oz, Cordelia and Faith. And how the whole time Buffy had been sleeping, drugged and bound in his bed. Helpless.  
  
"All I ever wanted was to run this sodding town," he finished "Is that so bad?"  
  
Buffy's eyes caught a thin gleam of the moon's light and sparkled. "No," She said slowly and quietly. "It's evil."  
  
Spike thought about it. "Well that's another way of putting it," he mused. "I think I like your phrasing better. Well," He said, getting to his feet. "Who wants some hot chocolate?"  
  
"I hate you." Buffy murmured. The glint in her eye became more maniacal and she let out a high-pitched laugh before slapping her hand over her mouth to suppress it. "I hate you, and yet you're the only one I've got left!" She exclaimed. "How twisted is this?!"  
  
Spike just stared at her. "You know," He said suddenly. "I'm still going to kill you. But I can make you live forever." He settled back onto the bed again, behind her; a seductive smile playing about his lips. He brushed her hair away from her neck and she shivered at his touch. "Just say the word."  
  
Buffy's world had stopped falling in. In fact, there was no world left to fall. Nothing mattered. If she did survive this, where would she go? Her friends were dead, her family were gone too. Her one true love had abandoned her. The world was out to get her, so why not give it what it wanted. Why not succumb?  
  
The thing that she'd been avoiding, even battling against, for all these years. why not just succumb to it? Become what she most loathed. That would put a nice spin on fate, wouldn't it?  
  
She flexed her neck, leaning her head to one side, feeling his cold breath against her skin. Just say the word. Just say the word.  
  
She felt her lips part involuntarily. Felt her mouth shape the word.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Buffy Summers, vampire slayer, felt his sharp fangs pierce her tender flesh. She felt herself grow dizzy and light, and all she could feel was the ecstasy coursing through her, making her stronger.  
  
She flew upwards towards the light, towards the evil light.  
  
She would never be helpless again. 


	2. Helpless II: The Puppet and Puppeteer

Helpless. Part II  
  
1 The puppet and puppeteer  
  
A sequel to 'helpless', my first fanfic (which, coincidentally, I forgot was also the name of a season 3 episode, so, er, sorry to anyone who got the wrong idea.) This is slightly darker than it's prequel, I fear, so read on, and please give me feedback, because no one ever does.  
  
  
  
Again, she woke up.  
  
But this time was not like the last. No, this time it was like wading through a sea of glue, trying to surface when you weren't even sure which way was up. A rushing filled her ears, and she imagined that she would soon hear her heartbeat, thumping and loud, against her ribs.  
  
But there was only silence.  
  
Silence and that strange, wild rushing, as though she was being filled up like a beaker, filled up from the inside.  
  
She cracked open one eye, and the motion felt strangely alien to her. It didn't feel like her eye, or maybe it didn't feel like it was her that was opening it. She was a puppet and puppeteer all in one, and she couldn't tell up from down.  
  
The world outside her head was dim and grey. Something cold and soggy clogged her mouth and nostrils, and clung to her naked arms and legs. She realised that she was clothed in a simple summer dress - she remembered it as being the one which she had begged and begged her mother to buy her some years ago. Cried and screamed and stamped her feet until she had gotten her own way. The memory which had brought so much grief those years ago should have caused a shameful wave to flood her heart, after all, she remembered, her mother was dead now. But even this thought left her cold and inanimate, as though she were a hollow vessel, slowly filling with new life, new purpose. A purpose that was not yet clear.  
  
For now she was just a shell. The puppet.  
  
She pushed up weakly with one arm, letting the filth that imprisoned her slide slowly to one side. She plunged her whole body forward into it until she thought that she couldn't be swallowed up anymore, and at that moment she found herself above ground, inhaling the fresh air in ragged breaths. She looked down at herself. Bare feet, pale, pale legs. Someone had dressed her carelessly. The dress was too tight, and clung to her ripe figure like a second skin of cobwebs. She noticed that a dark stain had snaked its way down the left hand side of her body, and she traced it with her finger. It was dry and flaked away at her touch. She followed the line up and up to the hole at her throat which had nearly healed. It did not hurt and she did not flinch as she examined it. So this was the source of her new life. It was so tiny, so painless and ridiculous, this ailment that would leave others screaming and swimming in pools of their own blood; it was so. human.  
  
She trod lightly across the dark field, occasionally bumping into upright slabs of stone that she could not identify. It was as if she was seeing everything with new eyes, but only new to her. Older than the ages, they had not seen a tombstone for centuries. Her new life force needed guidance; help to puppeteer this weak and deceased body that it now called home.  
  
The mind was willing, and this made the flesh strong for now. But she needed something. Sustenance. The familiar thought of a cheeseburger and shake was a far cry from satisfying the hunger that now burned in her. This wasn't for food; it was for survival. But it was more than that too. It was for power.  
  
An elderly woman knelt by her late husband's grave, no more than a hundred feet away. She spoke softly to her lost love, as though he could still hear, as though his ears had not decayed with the rest of him. Buffy, newly made, approached stealthily. Her bare feet made no sound. She was the predator, the starving animal. The lonely victim had no chance against her. One snap of thin, old bone and the woman was reunited with the one at whose grave she lay. A crumpled heap of sour flesh was all that was left.  
  
Buffy stared down at her. This small woman looked suddenly so vulnerable, so wretched. Her neck was stretched out at an unnatural angle, and her mouth was frozen in a surprised 'o'. Her eyes were blank and glassy, and stared off into space, never moving. Buffy had once heard that in death, one looked so peaceful it was easy to mistake it for sleep. But this one wasn't sleeping. She had died in confusion and horror, undeserving and unknowing. Buffy crept closer until she knelt by the woman, eyeing her with a mixed sense of horror and bloodlust. What ever it was that was filling her had not yet taken over. There was still some kind of memory that told her that this was wrong.  
  
But she continued to fill with her new life.  
  
She smiled and drank.  
  
*****  
  
Some minutes later, after she had finished retching, she lay on the ground shaking.  
  
Newly made, her body was still disgustingly human, and one which could not yet take a stomach-full of hot blood. She still shivered from a chill breeze that she did not feel.  
  
Her form was stretched alongside the old woman's, and she stole the last warmth from the violated corpse. An unnoticed shadow formed and approached.  
  
"Well, well," A low voice mocked from behind her. "Look who's back from the dead."  
  
Buffy strained to recognise the voice. She knew it from somewhere. But all of this was alien to her, growing stranger and stranger as the demon engulfed her.  
  
"I must say, you picked a good night for it," The voice continued. The air was balmy and soft, and only a slight wind betrayed the oncoming winter.  
  
The voice's owner circled her like a bird of prey, slowly and deliberately. A cigarette butt landed close to her face, fizzled and died.  
  
Buffy turned her head. "You're Spike," She said. She remembered now. She felt an immeasurable bond between the two of them - some sort of loyalty that she could not place.  
  
"Its what they call me," He said lightly. "Of course, you can refer to me as Sire. Or, perhaps, Your Grace. I've always fancied that."  
  
"So. I'm Buffy." She said, her voice wavering now. It was like a jigsaw puzzle. One that had been finished long ago, but recently shattered. It was up to her to rebuild it with her memories. It would look different but it would essentially be the same.  
  
Spike stopped pacing and sat astride a hefty tombstone. "Yeah, uh, you may want to change that, you know," He said with a smirk. "Buffy the Vampire doesn't quite have that menacing ring that our kind revere." He pulled out a packet of Marlboros and lit up, tossing the empty packet away carelessly. "There again, Buffy the Vampire Slayer didn't exactly instil the living fear of God into our hearts."  
  
Buffy raised herself onto her elbows. "You know, I had a hamster called Spike when I was eight," She said breezily. "The name wasn't so scary back then."  
  
"Yeah, well, things change," Spike said huffily. He jumped down from where he sat and approached her. "For one thing, you're dead now. And your bloody hamster's dead. And so is everyone you know." He grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled her upright. "Some of us were just lucky enough to come back," He growled.  
  
"What . are you doing?" Buffy cried, trying to break free. She was younger and weaker; a mere fledgling, but she had the pride of a warrior.  
  
"Teaching you the first thing about being what you are." He wrenched her arm upwards and pressed her hand over her heart. "Feel it."  
  
Buffy hesitated, and then listened. Felt. "There's nothing." She whispered.  
  
"Exactly. Tell you, the first thing about becoming one of us, pet, is that that's all you are now. Not some poncey, high-and-mighty vampire slayer, but the very thing that you've devoted your life to slaying."  
  
"How ironic," Buffy cut in dryly. "And I'm guessing there's some kind of point to this?"  
  
"The point is, peaches," Spike said impatiently, "That it may look like Kansas and it may feel like Kansas, but it ain't Kansas."  
  
And Buffy looked down at herself, her bloodstained hands, her porcelain skin and the old woman crumpled at her feet - all of it so familiar, yet so alien - and thought, 'No. Its really not.'  
  
***** 


End file.
